Said, "If it's not fixed today, you'll lose cattle to the ravine. " She wiped her hands on her apron. Decision made. I'll take the wagon to town. Matthew and Nathaniel can come with me for an extra set of hands. Bo had looked uncertain, his coffee cup pausing halfway to his lips.
"Are you sure? The folks in Ash Ridge, they weren't exactly kind to you when you left. " "Then they can practice being kind now," Eliza said with more confidence than she felt. I'm not the woman they sold 6 weeks ago, Bo. I'm different now. I have a home.
I have children. I have a place where I belong. They can't take that from me. " Something flickered in Bo's eyes at that. Pride maybe, or approval. Take James, too, then, just in case there's trouble.
So, the four of them had set out after breakfast, the wagon rattling along the familiar road toward Ash Ridge. Eliza hadn't been back since the day of her sail, and as the town came into view, small and dusty and full of memories she'd rather forget, her resolve wavered slightly. "Mama? " Nathaniel, sitting beside her on the bench seat, touched her arm. "You're squeezing the res tight. Are your hands okay? " Eliza loosened her grip, realizing she'd been strangling the leather.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just thinking about when Grandpa sold you? " Matthew asked from the back of the wagon, his voice carrying that edge of protective anger he got whenever anyone mentioned her past. Because if anyone says anything mean to you, I'll you'll mind your manners and be polite, Eliza interrupted firmly. We're here for supplies, not confrontation. We get what we need and go home.
Understood? Yes, Mama, Matthew muttered, though his scowl suggested he was mentally cataloging potential insults and preparing responses. They pulled up in front of Henderson's general store, the same building where B had loaded supplies the day he'd bought her. Eliza climbed down from the wagon with as much dignity as she could muster, smoothing her dress and straightening her bonnet. She'd worn her church dress today, not the faded everyday calico, but the nicer blue cotton that Catherine's skilled hands had sewn years ago, and that Eliza had carefully let out to fit her own frame.
The bell above the door chimed as they entered, and Mrs. Henderson looked up from her counter. The woman's eyes widened in recognition, her mouth forming a small O of surprise. Miss Moore, I mean Mrs. She faltered, clearly unsure how to address the woman who'd been sold like property 6 weeks ago.
Mrs. Thatcher, James supplied, his young voice carrying unexpected authority. This is our mother now. We need flour, sugar, salt, and whatever else is on this list. He handed over a paper covered in Eliza's careful handwriting.
Mrs. Henderson took the list with trembling fingers, her eyes darting between Eliza and the children. Of course, right away, I'll just I'll get these things together for you. She scured into the back room, leaving them alone in the store. Eliza could feel eyes on her from the street.